


Naming

by eerian_sadow



Series: Avalon [17]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mentions of Character Death, non-graphic unnamed character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2010-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her creators coud never find the right name for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naming

**Author's Note:**

> for the Oct. 27, 2010 round of [](http://tf-speedwriting.livejournal.com/profile)[tf_speedwriting](http://tf-speedwriting.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Prompt: Go through the Master List of Prompts, choose one you like and write for it. (Oct. 20—Gravity)  
> 

The sparkling’s body was assembled with loving care, components applied carefully in sequence and sealed with a protective coat so the internals wouldn’t suffer damage from the world around it. It was small, but it had to be with resources as limited as its creators’ were, and androgynous; they had never had the credits to have the tests performed that would tell how the spark gendered.

There would be sacrifice in the sparkling’s life as there always had been in its creators’ lives, but it would never want for love or affection.

“What will we call our youngling?” the sparkling’s carrier asked.

Its progenitor ran careful, loving fingers over an onyx helm. “I don’t know yet. We’ll think of something.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The sparkling was a serious femme. She was quiet and watched everything with careful optics. To the delight of both of her creators, she was not prone to tantrums or fits and never tried to fight with the other sparklings in her lesson group. She worked as hard as she could at home to help her carrier and often ran small errands for her progenitor to ease his work load.

The sparkling’s life was as pleasant as it could be, living in poverty in the slums. But she lay curled between her creators during the recharge cycle and wondered why she didn’t have a designation.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The femme had a strong spark and it allowed her to be upgraded into larger, sturdier frames than many of her age mates. Her creators grew older and wearier as she grew stronger and more mature and slowly their roles changed. She cared for them as their systems failed and worked small jobs to bring home energon to fuel them. Her progenitor deactivated during her twentieth vorn, too frail and feeble to fight off a virus that infected the coding controlling his cooling systems.

Sometime after he was gone, she found the courage to ask. “Why do I not have a designation?”

Her carrier smiled sadly. “We could never find the right one for you. And now that you are a grown femme, it’s not my place to do so. Someday, you’ll find the right designation for yourself.”

That night, her carrier passed and the war came.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Like the other survivors who hadn’t chosen a side, the femme hid. They were a small group, constantly moving out of fear of being found by one side or the other. Unlike some of the others, she didn’t blame the Autobots for the destruction of the slum that had been their home; she remembered the red and blue mech who had pulled her out of the wreckage of their shack and tried to save her carrier. His optics had been kind as he shared his ration and tended her wounds.

And she knew they couldn’t hide forever, no matter what the eldest of them said.

In a dark alley, she found a laser rifle clasped in the hands of a grey corpse as she scavenged for fuel. More concerned with the unexpected gift that who the mech might have been, she took the weapon and turned away from the corpse. Safety was always of utmost importance for the group she lived with now.

She began to teach herself how to shoot.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The war came again as she knew it would.

Her lessons paid off. With each shot she fired a Seeker dropped from the sky or a foot soldier fell to the ground. She could not protect everyone in her small colony, but she could—and did—defend the three sparklings behind her. When the assault stopped, the sparklings were huddled together in a frightened ball, but they were online and uninjured. The rest of the colony was in pieces on the ground.

Shocked and angry, she dropped to her knees and screamed.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The Autobots took the sparklings and sent them away to live with foster families. Part of the femme was glad that they would have a chance to grow up and do more than simply survive, but the rest of her mourned the passing of the final tie to her past. She missed them fiercely, even though she had barely known them.

“I saw you out there.” The words came from a pink femme with an elaborate helm design. “I’ve never seen shooting like that before. Even my weapons master was impressed.”

“I had to learn. The colony needed a protector. But I wasn’t good enough.”

“The Prime’s personal troop wouldn’t have been good enough this time.” The pink femme sat down on the medical berth next to her. “The Decepticons have decided there are only two sides in this war now. Neutrality isn’t an option anymore.”

She had seen the proof of that first hand.

“I have a need for someone with your skills,” the pink femme continued. “If you’re willing to join, that is.”

She thought for several long kliks. She had never believed that they would be able to avoid the fighting, but was being an Autobot what she wanted? Visions of her massacred colony haunted her thoughts and she was nodding before she knew she had made a decision. “Yes. There’s nothing else left for me.”

“Thank you.” The pink femme gave her a sad smile that reminded her of her carrier. “I’m Elita-1. What do they call you?”

She opened her mouth to reply that she didn’t have a designation, then closed it again. Among the Autobots she would need a designation; they couldn’t always call her “the femme” anymore. The thought about the battle and the falling Seekers and opened her mouth again.

“Gravity. My designation is Gravity.”  



End file.
